


You Have the Right to Remain Fabulous

by lousy_science



Series: The Wardrobe Malfunction 'verse [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, DC Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossdressing, Drag Queens, Gyms, M/M, Martial Arts, Pancakes, Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 21:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11517813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lousy_science/pseuds/lousy_science
Summary: John has a new job (GCPD Detective), a new boyfriend (Bane), and an upset teenager (Colin), and he just cannot be expected to deal with it all while wearing pants this ugly.Sequel toMaybe He's Born With It. Maybe It's Tequila.





	You Have the Right to Remain Fabulous

It had been a long day, John was exhausted, and all he wanted was to get under a face mask and a dick. It was only Tuesday, and the rest of the working week loomed in front of John. He knew that tomorrow morning he would drag himself to the Batcave, and the kids would demand more stories about what it was like being a GCPD Detective. Since he’d been promoted two months ago, he hadn’t managed to convince them that it wasn’t anything like TV. Gotham was perpetually gridlocked, so there were no car chases, and most murders weren’t twisted geniuses who left behind cryptic riddles. The most dramatic part of his day had been an encounter with an incontinent bulldog who had pissed all over John’s new shoes.

It did nothing for his professional morale that his partner, a vet called Gary Loggia, found the whole thing hysterically funny.

Loggia was a cop’s cop, and there was no use reminding him that John was a year older than Commissioner Gordon had been back when he got his gold badge. Gary called John “rookie”, “junior”, “kiddo”, or on special occasions, like when he’d climbed back into the patrol car after tossing his brogues in a dumpster, “the boy wonder”.

“So, boy wonder, where to next? Payless Shoes, or the precinct?”

“Remind me again why we couldn’t impound the dog.”

Gary laughed some more. “No evidence of animal neglect. No relation to the primary charge. And no budget to get the upholstery dry cleaned.”

John had worked for years to get this far in the force. Becoming detective had been his goal from his first day in the academy. He just hadn’t anticipated the suffering that would be inflicted on his wardrobe. It wasn’t just the shoes. It was also the polyester.

His GCPD colleagues took the phrase “plainclothes police” all too literally. Plain, certainly. Clothes, technically, yes, they were, but John had severe reservations about what some of his fellow detectives chose to put on their bodies.

Badly-fitted chinos, wrinkled button-ups, frayed polo shirts, jackets which wouldn’t look out of place on a golf course circa 1985, and suits which had clearly been bought from consignment stores, that was what you’d see in the briefing room alongside the uniform blues. One guy, Det. Van der Gren, spent summer in tucked-in t-shirts with cargo shorts and, to John’s everlasting horror, Tevas sandals. Van de Gren worked a lot of the automotive crime, specialising in shutting down illegal chop shops, and as he’d tell you in between chugging Snapple in the break room, garages were hot places.

When John began the job he looked at his new peers with a kind of awe. By the end of the first month he looked at them and thought, “Have you people never even _seen_ an iron?”

It wasn’t just the guys, either - Det. Renee Montoya was probably the most skilled active investigator in the city, and no one could fault her integrity, sharp mind, or persistence, but John could sure as shit fault her pantsuits. John didn’t know how she could be so brilliant while wearing so much polymix, or solve the mystery of why she was so drawn to egregious shoulder pads and dull colors which did nothing for her skin tone. Sometimes during briefings he would mentally redress her up in vintage Armani, with a neckline that complimented her sharp bone structure.

Gary caught John appraising her one day (a waterfall blazer in beige? What the hell was she thinking?) and nudged him. “Don’t go getting puppy eyed over Montoya, rookie - she bats for the other team, and I don’t mean the warden’s baseball league, ya know.”

John managed to keep the look of surprise off his face, because there’s no way Gary would read that correctly. Instead he just coughed and offered to get the coffees that morning.

His first day as a Detective, John showed up for his shift with Loggia wearing a double-breasted suit and freshly shined shoes. Gary had made a point of giving him a long up-and-down look before muttering, “You look like my sister’s middle school prom date.”

Which is why John now came to work in the dullest ensembles that he could bear. Tencel pants that were easy to run in, a navy microfibre shirt that didn’t show sweat or bloodstains, and a zip-up jacket which he had almost convinced himself had a certain Alain Delon _chic_ to it.

Gary had thought John should grow a beard, “You might look like you hit puberty, after all.”

With all respect to the fine bearded queens John knew, it would be a cold day in hell before that happened. Contouring would be a nightmare.

Not that he had any time for drag, or anything drag-adjacent, like watching the new episodes of _Real Housewives of Gotham_ , or taking an afternoon off to leaf through the September issue of _Vogue_ and send bitchy messages to Selina about how tired all this season’s styling looked.

But at least he had Bane now. And having Bane peel off his ugly, bland clothes after a long day and provide some welcome distraction was what kept John level those first few months. Bane also listened to him complain, helped him think out thorny cases, rubbed his feet when they ached, and made sure that John’s fridge had more than beer and mouldy takeaways inside it.

It was Bane that John was thinking about as he came home and stuck on a sheet mask allegedly “infused with shea butter”. While letting it infuse the life back into him, John lay on the couch browsing on his phone for new shoes, sending Bane a quick message to ask whether he was planning on coming around. Bane had sent back a typically blunt reply (“Yes. Do you require food?”) that lifted what remained of John’s spirits.

“Food would be good. Let yourself in.”

He’d given Bane a key after a couple of weeks of their whatever-this-thing-was had been firmly established on John’s four hundred count bed sheets. It had been John’s initiative. Bane lived in a sparsely-decorated apartment in the industrial north end of Gotham, an area that was a pain in the ass to get to unless you had a motorcycle to beat the traffic. John’s place was far easier, had an actual couch and decent heating, plus John’s wardrobe was right there with all his preferred at-home clothing on hand, should he be in the mood for a garter set or pleated mini-skirt.

Bane wasn’t an easy man to read, but John had worked out that he had certain preferences - stockings with seams were like his kryptonite - but more than anything, he liked John when John felt good about himself. John had said this out loud once, when they were in bed, after Bane had fucked him on his side, in full view of the mirror, in long, purposeful thrusts that had left John’s legs shaking and made him a little light-headed.

Bane had looked at him flatly. “Of course. That is natural for one to desire in a partner.”

John tucked that memory away as Bane let himself in, carrying a huge box of Italian takeout.

“What is that thing on your face?”

John peeled back a corner of it to wink at Bane. “It’s a mask. It makes me more beautiful, and less homicidal. You want to try one?”

Bane grunted. “I think not.”

“You’re beautiful enough without it. And covering up those lips would be a crime.”

After cleansing, toning, and moisturising, drinking a beer, and eating an ungodly amount of lasagne, John let Bane take over the evening’s self-care program. The day’s outfit was firmly shoved into his laundry hamper, and John was wearing nothing but a pair of Bane’s sweatpants and a smile. Bane hadn’t been thrilled about the carb count of the lasagne, so John had suggested they fuck the calories away.

Thus John was half-in and half-out of the sweatpants while Bane had him pinned to the wall, grinding at him in an especially agreeable manner as John’s legs were looped around his waist. Bane had the strength to hold them both up while John let his mind wander along with his hands. Forget long baths and transcendental meditation; this was his moment of zen.

Had the knock on the door come on the previous Sunday night around the same time, John would have heard it while wearing a dark purple negligee and stockings with suspenders; had it been exactly one week earlier, John would have answered it wearing a pair of new khakis with pins in the left leg, as Bane had been fixing up the hem. But it was this particular Tuesday night when the knocking came, the sweatpants were barely hanging on, and John broke off a messy, mindless kiss to look at Bane and say, “Who the fuck could that be?”

Bane carefully put him down and said, “Perhaps Mrs. Chichikov needs her sink fixed again?”

“You fixed that for her last week,” John grumbled, pulling the drawstring tight around his waist, “and she could have said something earlier.”

His neighbor Mrs. Chichikov went to bed at eight thirty p.m. on the dot, as she had for the last forty years, and if John had been less tired and horny, he might have remembered that. But instead, John flung open the door half-dressed, with mussed hair, and Bane standing behind him wearing nothing but his underwear.

Instead of a small, elderly Russian woman, he saw Colin. He looked hysterical, panting, with tears streaking his face, and burst out with, “ _John_! I’m-so-sorry-but-I-needed-to-”

John stood stock-still as Colin’s face transformed in a second, from red and anxious to pale and shocked. He reached forward to grab the teenager, every protective instinct he had firing on full. “Colin, what’s wrong?”

Several things happened at once. John was pulling Colin into the apartment, Bane moving forward to hold the door open, and Colin flailing backwards. Over the last few months Colin had packed on a lot of muscle and had a growth spurt. Now he loomed over John and was nearly as tall as Bane, making him difficult to wrangle.

John said, “Get the hell in here!” and yanked him forward. Colin, breathless and sweaty, took a step forwards, his eyes shooting between Bane and John as he folded his arms around himself.

While Bane quietly closed the door behind him, John asked again what was wrong and why he was here. The last he’d seen Colin had been at the Batcave on the weekend, where they’d practiced body throws and talked about his algebra homework. Clearly, Colin had bigger issues now than working out what the value of _x_ was. Staring down at the floor, he started talking. “This girl, Heidi, I know her - sort of - I kinda know her? Anyway she asked me to help her out and _I didn’t know_ , I just wanted to help, she said she was moving her stuff out of her boyfriend’s place and then I went around and she wasn’t there? But this guy was? Then when she showed up, he said a bunch of stuff about her, and then - John, he made like he was gonna hit her!”

Colin looked up at him urgently, then flushed deeper and went back to looking at the floor, the words flowing out of him now. “He punched the wall right next to her. And all I wanted to do was stop him, so I grabbed his hand and tried to diffuse the situation, you know, like Bruce tells us to,”

John sighed. Bruce had negotiation techniques that worked fine for him, but as a 6”8 billionaire with a black belt, people tended to listen to him as a default, which hadn’t particularly refined his communication skills. “You told him to immediately stop or face the consequences of his actions?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh, yeah, that script works better in Bruce’s head than real life. Like a lot of things do. What happened then, Col?”

Colin was choking up. “I hurt him. He wouldn’t stop, so I stopped him. Heidi kept telling me to keep going, that he deserved it. I don’t know what to do, I got him on the floor with a hold, and she left, and I think I broke his arm? And he was yelling real loud. And then I left and didn’t know where to go and I came here and you’re with - ” and he sobbed, looking at John accusingly.

“OK, Colin, first of all, I need you to breathe.”

Bane silently passed over a glass of water to Colin, who took it with a shaking hand. Looking at John, Bane raised his eyebrows. John took charge.

“Right, I’ll make some calls, find out if this guy’s gone to an ER, get a squad car over there. Colin, you need to tell me the address - do you know Heidi’s last name?”

Holding himself tightly with one arm, Colin sipped his water and shook his head. When he did speak, it was in a laboured whisper. “38th Avenue. The Copperpot Complex, apartment 445B.”

“Colin, Bane is going to take you back home. You got your phone with you?”

When Colin nodded, Bane headed back to the bedroom. John took a step towards the terrified teenager in the middle of his kitchen. “You OK with that? Bane has his motorcycle here.”

He wasn’t prepared for the furious look Colin gave him. “Why is he here?”

Pressing his hand to his face, John tried not to sigh again. “C’mon Col, let’s get you back. If you need to give a statement, I’ll come and pick you up in a few hours. All you have to is leave your phone on.”

“We’re not meant to take calls after curfew.”

Colin was living in a short-term residence for foster kids a few blocks away. The people who ran it were good, but set firm rules. “You’ve already broken curfew, and I’ll talk to your house manager, make sure they understand. I’m guessing they don’t know where you are?”

Colin dropped his gaze again and nodded. John continued, “I’ll call them first, so they know Bane will drop you off.”

As he said it, Bane returned, fully dressed and holding two motorcycle helmets. Colin, always quiet around Bane in the best of circumstances, visibly wilted.

“Take this. And put on my coat, it’s cold out there. John will manage from here.” It was the first thing Bane had said, and John felt immediately more reassured at the sound of his voice. No matter whether Bane was ordering waffles, discussing fight styles, or telling John they needed to buy more whey powder, he managed to make every statement feel authoritative. John hoped that his words had the same effect on Colin as he watched him pull on Bane’s enormous army coat and head out the door. He didn’t look back at John, who took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

Within eight hours John was fully dressed and standing behind Colin and his house manager, a tired-looking woman called Suze. Colin had finished giving his statement to Lt. Carlos Garcia, who had checked out the scene at Cobblepot Complex for John.

“We’ll let you know if you need to come in again, but I doubt it - this guy’s not gonna press charges. We got Heidi’s statement, too, and she’s profoundly grateful for Mr. Wilkes’ intervention to a perceived threat. Though, as Det. Blake has no doubt informed you, we would advise not being in contact with her again. Or going to any other strange girl’s homes to deal with their scumbag exes. Not many teenage boys have the level of martial arts training that he has, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to put himself in situations where he needs it.”

Suze looked over at Colin, chewing her lip and nodding. “I’m sure Colin has learned his lesson.”

Garcia smiled and lowered his clipboard. “This guy has several priors for assault. Mr. Wilkes stepped in when he perceived a threat and neutralised it. He did the right thing to go straight to authorities, and Det. Blake is an excellent character witness.”

Winking at John, Garcia wished them both well and strolled off. Suze turned to John. “There’s not going to be a permanent record?”

“No, not for Colin. Turns out this guy had an outstanding warrant, so he was brought in for that. Which means he’s off the streets for now. Best thing would be for you to both get some rest.”

Suze nodded and nudged Colin with her arm. “Sound good to you, Colin? How about we go get pancakes?”

Colin didn’t say anything. Suze said more quietly, “How about thanking John?”

John wanted to hug Colin. But he was hunched over, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes on the floor, muttering thanks and heading for the station door. Suze looked a little defeated. “I guess he’s tired. That’s not like him.”

“It’s been a long night. Go have some pancakes, I’ll call around tonight, OK?”

After Suze left, John stood for a moment. All around him was the normal chaos of the GCPD 54th Precinct, as familiar to John as the sound of Bruce’s voice or the taste of cold pizza straight from the fridge. It was his normal life, but right then John felt far away from normal.

Later that afternoon John looked over Garcia’s report. Carlos was a good cop. He’d asked Colin all the right questions, including how long he’d known John, how long he’d been going to the Batcave, and why he’d gone to him after the fight. He’d written

_Immediately after the incident, Mr. Wilkes went to Det. Blake’s residence on foot, and informed him of the incident. From Blake’s house he returned to his current address, the Mildred Genest Foster Center, driven by a mutual associate of Det. Blake and Mr. Wilkes._

Garcia hadn’t asked John about this ‘mutual associate’. He had wanted to ask Suze whether Bane had been questioned or what Colin had said about him, but he’d pushed that aside, knowing that the details of John’s private life weren’t the priority, Colin’s welfare was.

But John’s private life was now part of official police record, in that phrase “mutual associate”, and John had a small surge of dread at the repercussions.

He wasn’t out at work. At the Batcave, he and Bane kept their relationship under wraps. Both of these actions had seemed sensible. Optimal. Strategic.

John knew about a guy in the 33rd precinct who brought his husband to last year’s Gotham Police Foundation function, the biggest and most formal event the GCPD put on. It had both been a big deal and not - John wondered whether the guy was invited to the BBQs and house parties that made up the tight-knit network of police spouses, and whether he’d want to be.

Bane wouldn’t care one way or another, John knew. He wouldn't want to be part of the suburban baby showers and Facebook groups that made up the community of wives and girlfriends of cops. But John knew, if he asked, that Bane would put on a suit and accompany him to one of those tedious civic council dinners that Gary told him he’d have to start attending.

He’d told Gary a very abbreviated version of the night’s events, and the rest of the day was so busy they never discussed it further. It wasn’t until John left the station at seven PM and checked his phone that he saw all the message notifications. The news had hit the Batcave.

The first message he read was from Tatsu, and she cut to the chase: _WTF happened last night? What did you do to upset Colin?_

John’s immediate response was to call Colin and ask him what he’d been saying, but he took five deep, even breaths just like Bruce had taught him and stuck with his priorities. Calling Suze, he checked in on how it was going at the house post-pancakes.

“He didn’t talk much, but he was exhausted and miserable. I got him back and told him to have some sleep, that we’d talk tonight, but according to the day manager he went out later, to the gym.”

“And he’s got his phone.”

“There was no reason to confiscate it, was there? The girl from the incident - I didn’t think she’d be in touch with him, after all, he served his purpose for her.”

“Mmm. Yeah.”

“Detective Blake - is there anything else I should know about?”

Suze was not a stupid woman, but John didn’t tell her that her hunch was correct. He wasn’t sure what the most professional way of saying, “Gee, only that Colin has discovered I’m fucking his idol and never told him” was, and he resented that there even was an issue. John and Bane were grown-ups, and Colin had no right to expect an account of their personal life, especially when they had helped him out. Neither did Tatsu, or Tim, who had sent him a series of question marks and side-eye emojis.

But John looked at his phone and thought that stopping teenagers gossiping was about as realistic as expecting Bruce to lighten up.

The day after the incident with Colin, John woke up alone, hit the floor for a hundred push-ups and yawned until his jaw cracked. He’d slept in his boxer briefs, burgundy ones that, if Bane had been here, he would have cupped John’s ass in and pulled him closer for a more stimulating wake-up. Mornings with Bane were great; Bane woke up before dawn and did whatever mystical shit got his head into Bane mode up until John slid into the kitchen to eat breakfast with him. The Bane’s hands would move on to John’s thighs, he’d ask some questions about John’s plans for the week, checking him over for any injuries and finding time for a little pre-work cuddling.

But Bane wasn’t there, it was just John and his oatmeal, and the choice of what to wear that day. He went with grey, to match his mood.

He packed his work clothes along with his workout gear, as he planned to hit the Batcave in the morning, and see if Tatsu had any more questions for him.

Walking into the Batcave felt immediately weird. Like John was going in naked. He shook it off and said hi to Tom and Barsad, who were preparing to spar. Usually he’d hang out to see how that went, but instead, he launched right into his own workout.

Mid-way through a second miserable set of Russian squats he saw a pair of designer purple leggings come into his peripheral vision.

“You really fucked up.” Helena sounded almost cheerful.

John swung the medicine ball around, not looking up at her. “By helping the kid out of a jam? Yeah, I’m such an asshole.”

“The problem is, Jo-Jo, everyone expects you to do the right thing, you don’t get points for it. But you dared to have a life beyond this place, and didn’t give them any kind of hint.”

“I don’t owe anyone a status update on my personal affairs.”

“Ooh, ‘personal affairs’. Listen to you, you sound as priggish as Wayne. C’mon, they’re kids, what happened to Colin shook everyone - having to go to the police? With a possible assault charge? You think everyone here hasn’t imagined that happening to them, knowing it could be a worse case scenario? It’s not the best backdrop to find out that your mentor is also Bane’s bootycall.”

“I’m not a - Col is fine. He doesn’t have a police record, his case worker is taking care of him, I _did everything I could for him_.”

“Tell that to a kid who feels betrayed.”

John looked up. Colin’s unmistakable figure was standing across the gym space from him, staring at John with pure fury.

Jumping to his feet, John strode over to talk to him. “Col - ”

Colin didn’t walk, he ran. John could feel the rest of the gym looking at him. He turned to give them all his best “What the hell is your problem?” face, one he’d perfected from studying RuPaul gifs, only to have Damien show up, grinning like he’d finally come into his trust fund.

John shook his head. “Not today, Satan.”

“What’s wrong, John? I’m not allowed talk to you? Why, will your boyfriend beat me up?”

John didn’t take any pride in his ability to floor a 5’4 teenager in less than five seconds. It was just part of his standard skillset. But making Damien eat floor was an effective way to shut him up.

His workout hadn’t helped his frazzled nerves, and neither had putting Damien in a headlock, though it had been satisfying. When Gary showed up at his desk with two cups of coffee and an apricot danish, John could’ve kissed him. Instead moaned as he downed the pastry in two bites.

“Thanks, man, I needed that.”

“Clearly. Something up?”

“Ehhh,” John balled up the greasy paper wrapper and threw it towards the garbage can with perfect accuracy. “Tough morning at the gym.”

“Easy fix for that. Don’t go. Works great for my stress levels.”

“Don’t let Gordon hear you, you know he wants to up the physical requirements,”

Gary waved his hands. “I got you to run around for me. What’s happening at your gym - that loopy bazillionaire getting tired of his waifs and strays?”

“Bruce doesn’t tire of anything. No, just some drama. Unnecessary drama. Gossipy BS.”

Sitting down across from him, Gary smiled. “Today’s gossip is tomorrow’s headline news. Staying up on tittle-tattle is part of our job. What’s good, boy wonder?”

“You are worse than a nosy housewife. Fine, I’ll spill. You remember the kid I helped out the other night - possible assault charge, ginned up by a girl with a half-baked revenge plan?”

“Colin Wilkes.” Gary gave off a goofy, distracted air, but John knew he had a mind like a steel trap.

“Yeah, Colin. Ever since that night, he’s been avoiding me like the plague. Bolts when I try to talk to him.”

Gary leaned back in his chair and lifted his coffee cup, swirling it around like it was a glass of brandy. He said, “Listen to me, John. There was a guy from my old neighborhood, name of David - Davy - Treadwell. Him and me, we’d both been altar boys, we were in the same summer programs, and when there was a big game on, he came down to O’Connor’s bar to watch it with me and the boys.”

Football was Gary’s religion. He kept on, “Now, Davy, he was into some kind of shady stuff, and I knew that, and he knew that I knew, but I never asked no questions. Then one evening I get a late-night visit from his wife. One of Davy’s small-time hustles had gone south. Not really his fault, he was dumb enough to trust some Mob goombahs with his money. Long story short, I helped him out - there was no violent crime, and the money that Davy had been holding made it’s way back to the legitimate owners - we sorted it out with the DA so he got 18 months probation, not 5 years upstate. Good deal, right?”

John nodded. Gary continued, “Week after his sentencing, I run into Davy and his wife down the market, they both cut me dead. I knew this guy since we were both in short pants. His wife, I helped her brother get a job in construction, good union job. But now, _pffft_ , nothing.”

He tapped his coffee cup on the desk like it was a gavel. John didn’t feel reassured. “Is it always going to be like that?”

“Nah, not at all. The Wilkes kid, he’s not a bad guy. But remember, power changes relationships. You need to remind him that he’s not a criminal in your eyes.”

“Colin knows I don’t - ” John stopped. He had assumed Colin knew that John didn’t judge him like that, but he’d been so thrown by the Bane factor that he’d not taken it into account.

“I really need to talk to him, don’t I?”

Gary sipped his coffee. “After the shift, Blake. We’ve got a city to protect for the next nine hours.”

That night, Bane came around to John’s to pick up his laptop charger and share some leftover kale and tofu stir fry he’d made. John doused his in hot sauce and in between mouthfuls, asked whether Bane had seen Colin since the evening he’d burst in on them.

“Yes. This afternoon, in fact. After Barsad told me what had happened at the gym between the two of you.”

“Today? What did he say?” And, John thought, what the hell did Barsad say to Bane about John? He’d always considered himself on decent terms with Bane’s right hand at the Batcave, but he had no idea what he made of John’s relationship with his coach.

“That Colin was acting like a teenager, and that Helena was enjoying herself watching the two of you.”

“Can he just ask her out already? Or does Barsad consider it against his moral code to consort with non-team members?”

Bane raised an eyebrow at him. “If he does, he didn’t get that idea from me.”

The truth dawned on John. “You told him. About us.”

“Certainly I did. Barsad cannot have his team leader compromised.”

“Oh, so I’m a compromise?” John was getting huffy.

“No. My feelings for you, however, could possibly influence my decision-making, and if Barsad didn’t know the context of those decisions, he may not have all the intel needed for tactical operations.”

John knew that all the ‘tactical operations’ Bane and Barsad consulted on were the construction of the workout schedules and who was in charge of the towel-washing supplies, but they took them very seriously. As seriously as John took the kids at the Batcave, which meant, he knew, that he had to sort this mess out sooner rather than later.

 

In response to the last of John’s five text pleading text messages, Colin agreed to meet him at Gotham’s greasiest burger joint, Harley’s Heart Attacks, where they sometimes went after one of Bruce’s more brutal workouts. John was a firm believer that carbs were good for communication.

After they ordered a couple of cardiac arrest specials from the perky blonde waitress, John took a deep breath and started off. “I’m sorry, dude.”

Colin stared at the table top and shrugged. “Nothing to be sorry about. I got it wrong. I got a lot of things wrong.”

“Nah, I don’t think you did. I think you had a case of believing the best of people. I really don’t want you to lose that.”

Shrugging again, Colin at least smiled. Then their milkshakes arrived and John challenged him to their usual noisy-drinking competition, “Straw against straw!”

For a second he thought Colin was going to say something like, _That is so gay,_ but instead he beamed and looked John right in the eyes. “I always beat you!”

“Prepare for defeat then, Wilkes.”

For the next thirty seconds they made an admittedly gross racket, until John got a major ice cream headache and tapped out. The waitress swung by and pointed to Colin. “This guy, he’s the winner. Hands down.”

Colin gave a little cheer, and John doffed an imaginary hat to him. “Touché.”

His smile fading, Colin rested his drink down. “I didn’t mean to run away, at the gym the other day. I knew Bruce wouldn’t approve. But I was so angry, I was worried I would do something really stupid.”

“More stupid than Damien’s boyfriend jokes?”

Colin winced. John kept going, “I do get it, Col. I kept a secret from you. It wasn’t because I thought you would do something homophobic or anything.”

“It’s not that! I don’t care, I mean, I believe in gay rights and all that stuff. I just didn’t know that you were, or that, um, Bane...”

“Look, it wasn’t about you at all. Or anyone, apart from Bane and me.”

It took some time for Colin to ask his next question. “Were you ever gonna tell us? About you and ... _him_.”

John sighed. “Honestly? I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

Seeing Colin screw up his face in scepticism, John knew his defences were about to go up again. Taking a deep breath, he started talking. “OK dude, you are going to get the whole meal deal. You know that Bane is always prepared for everything. Well, I absolutely am not. I have been winging this whole thing. It’s, he’s, my first,”

John waved his hands above the stack of pancakes, trying to indicate the sheer size of what he was talking about, “big relationship. With words like ‘boyfriend’ and having keys to each other’s place and, all this, when can I put him as my emergency contact and should I buy a new couch because he hates the one I have and I even considered getting him a Valentine’s Day gift for like twenty seconds at Macy’s, oh my God Colin, I am so, so screwed.”

Colin’s eyes were wide and he was shaking his head. “Katana was right. You’re in _love_ with him.”

“ _Aargh_.” John cradled his head in his hands. “I so freaking am.”

“Are you two going to get married?”

“What? No? I don’t, I mean it’s only been,” John flailed a little.

“Since Halloween?”

“How did you -”

“Helena guessed. She and Tom had a pool going.”

Curse that woman. John forked himself a consolatory mouthful of hashbrowns. Colin was beginning to look cheerful. Swallowing, John said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I get it.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Colin shrugged, the storm clouds above his brow far away. “I’m sorry for the stuff at the gym. Like, running away from you. Not the part where you put Damien in a chokehold, that was awesome.”

John pointed a fork at him. “Apology accepted. Can we make a deal? From now on, can you keep me up to date with whatever gossip is going down about me and Bane? And in return, I’ll let you know what the truth is. Once I’ve figured it out for myself.”

Saluting him with his milkshake, Colin smiled.

 

On his way home, one of Colin’s questions was circling around John’s head. Towards the end of the meal, he’d asked when John had known he was gay.

John was the only foster kid he’d ever known who wanted to be adopted by The Golden Girls. For years he’d covertly hoarded bodybuilding magazines for jerk-off material, and wore his first pair of high heels to a party when he was 15. He had known he was gay long before he’d even heard the word, and as a fully-functioning adult with his own credit card and internet connection, he had the dildo collection to prove it.

But when he thought of himself, it was never one of the labels at the top of his list of categories. He was a cop. A fighter. An orphan. One of the Batcave’s mixed-up crew. The beat cop who Commissioner Gordon took a chance on and got promoted.

But being gay, like his drag gear, like his relationship with Bane, and that one time in Macy’s where he’d stood in front of a display of “Perfect Valentine Choices for the Man in Your Life” and wondered if Bane would like a rose gold cocktail shaker set or a set of coasters with _amore_ engraved on them, was a part of his life that felt out of the stream of his existence. He just stuck it to the side, like the high heels boxed up in his wardrobe, or the trick of switching out pronouns when he joined in with shittalk at the bar with his colleagues.

When he’d dropped the ‘orphan’ bomb on Gary, his partner reacted with a grimace and three solid weeks of dinner invites from his wife. Eventually John made it clear that he had plenty of people in his corner, and as much as he liked Gary’s family - his wife Lorraine did a mean carbonara - he didn’t need adopting. But he’d kept up his default ‘bachelor cop who is married to the work’ persona around him, figuring Gary didn’t need the extra information.

He was due on shift in nine hours. That was plenty of time to go shopping.

Gary looked him up and down as he climbed into the car. “Nice tie, whaddya call that colour? Hot pink?”

John fingered the patterned silk. “It’s mauve damask with silver weave. Hot pink is the color your mom goes when she calls me up late at night. ”

“Oh yeah, yeah, with the momma jokes. Whaddya think the gangbangers down at 87th Ave will make of mauve damask?”

“I think they’ll learn to appreciate it.”

“So what it this, new ensemble? You’re not due in court?”

John smiles, and rolled his shoulders in the new jacket he was wearing. “Makes me feel comfortable.”

Gary pulled their car away from the kerb. “Whatever works for you, Project Runway. Go ahead and dress like it’s your first Bar Mitzvah.”

One perp did say something about John’s tie. He complained that it was in his face when John had him pinned to a park bench. Given that the guy was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and that John had been forced to chase him down after he was found hiding in his ex-girlfriend’s apartment, refusing to leave when she tried to kick him out, John’s sympathy was minimal.

His new suit was a bit crumpled by the time he got home, but it still felt lighter and stronger than any work outfit John had worn before. The tailoring had been worth every penny. Running a thumb down the silk length of his tie, he smiled to himself and opened his apartment door. Today had been a good day, and this evening was probably going to be even better.

 

Bane was on his couch, reading a book. John pecked him on the cheek and peered over his shoulder. “Is that in Russian?”

“Mmm. Mrs. Chichikov lent it to me.”

“Is her sink broken again?”

“It is not anymore. She also gave me cabbage rolls. I thought we could have them with the baby beets I picked up at the farmer’s market.”

John rubbed his bald head. “You are so bourgie.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, I love cabbage rolls and beets. Let’s eat.”

 

After swallowing his final mouthful of cabbage roll, John wiped his mouth, cleared his throat, and said, “I talked with Gordon today.”

Bane looked up from his dinner plate at the sound of the name. He had never met the Commissioner, but Bane was astute enough to know that he was, along with Bruce, one of the most important figures in John’s life.

“What did you two discuss?”

John put his fork down. “Mainly just the case we’re trying to build against one of the Falcone family’s business partners, there’s some key evidence we want to lock down before prosecution begins. But, you know, he always asks how I’m going, about the Batcave, whether there are any kids there I think’d be good in the service.”

“And do you think there would be?”

Shrugging, John shook his head. “Maybe, if they felt like it - Tim and Tatsu, but I feel like they have other priorities. Colin would make an excellent cop, but his experience with police authority hasn’t impressed him much.”

“Don’t be so sure. Remember, he has you.”

“Well. Yeah. I guess. I don’t want him to feel he has to make a life choice to impress me, though. I’d like him to go to college, if that’s what he wants. Or become a bike mechanic. He loves that machine of yours.”

Bane didn’t tap his fingers or purse his lips when he thought, he just remained very still. After a couple of seconds, he said, “I will invite him to meet the people at the garage where I get it serviced. He may learn something from it.”

“He’d love that, I can tell you.” Frankly, John knew if Bane invited Colin to a flower-arranging course, Colin would dig it. Bane was still a rockstar in Colin’s eyes.

“Something else, with Gordon,” John went on, “was that when he asked about the gym, I said I was dating one of the trainers there. I said he was another fighter, the best I’ve seen since Bruce.”

Bane held John’s look. While John had kept the tone light, he knew he wasn’t fooling Bane, who knew the weight of the statement. Being out to Gordon was a significant bridge for John to cross.

John cleared his throat, and answered the unspoken question. “He told me he was happy for me. And that it was hard, being in a relationship with a cop, he had told that to his wife when they were dating - he said ‘courting’, even - but that she’d shown him that someone who cares for you can deal with hard.”

It was quite a little speech, and Bane let John say it. Then he reached his hand out to rub John’s knee while they finished up their meal.

After stacking their dirty dishes in the sink John crawled onto Bane’s lap. He rubbed their noses together.

“I guess you want to clean up.”

Bane hummed in agreement.

“I feel like slipping into something more comfortable.”

Pushing a hand down the back of John’s pants, Bane growled, “More comfortable than this?”

Admittedly, there wasn’t much that was more comfortable than this. John was well-fed, well-cared for, well-employed, and an old weight was lifted from his shoulders.

But there was one thing John hadn’t told Bane yet. “When I went shopping, I picked up a few more things in silk. And I wanted to show them to you.”

 

While John loved all of Bane’s body, from every angle, he particularly enjoyed having a bird’s eye view of it. It didn’t take much to convince Bane to lie back and let John ride him - usually, a pair of lacy briefs and a smile would do it - but the thin purple bondage ropes crossed around Bane’s wrists were helping. Of course, Bane could break them like twigs, but John knew how to tie them slowly, letting the jute fibres drag along his skin, tugging the knots into place with his body overlaying Bane’s and feeling the shudder of relief as he was held down. Bane wasn’t used to lying back and having responsibility taken off of him. Every time John did this with him, he felt almost overwhelmed at the honor of the intimacy.

One day, John promised himself, he would try some fancy shibari rope patterns on Bane. Those pretty muscles would look so good contained in knots, and maybe they’d leave some interesting marks behind. He always put lotion on Bane after tying him up, to soothe any abrasions, really only for John’s own pleasure than Bane’s comfort, who was perpetually covered in healing scrapes and cuts.

Bracing his thighs around Bane’s bulk, he let his spine curl back and pumped his hips. He felt so full, with Bane’s hard, thick cock all his to ride. Beneath him, Bane twisted slightly, his body so secure but limber. Bending back, John held on to Bane’s thighs and let him body bend in a blissfully crooked line. It felt like Bane was damn near in his throat, he was so deep inside him, and John’s lungs were straining for all the air he could suck out of the room.

Snapping back upright, he settled into a more gentle pace to recover. Slapping Bane on the stomach - “I love fucking you so goddamn much” - he began to twist a little, letting his ass jiggle like he’d learned in samba class.

Bane’s breathing was strained, too, and even in his own sex haze John knew it wasn’t physical struggle, it was something else. He could see the white knuckle grip of Bane’s fists around the ropes, not to snap them but to hold them in place.

“C’mon, let it go, let it go,” John urged in short gasps. His own orgasm was close, but he wanted Bane to come first, to release into him. For every drop to be inside John, part of him. He allowed himself to get greedy, bearing down to exert that much more pressure on Bane.

Sweat beaded on Bane’s skin. With a choked grunt, a sound John could never, ever get enough of, his body stiffened and then sagged, John riding the wave of Bane’s pleasure with his hands grasping his chest to stay upright.

Feeling him soften, John stayed in the saddle. Bane was so big he didn’t slip out, the decrease of pressure and the rush of wetness on his sensitive skin was enough for John, who reached down to stroke himself off.

It made Bane messy, and John was so pleased with how he looked with John’s come on him that said he wasn’t allowed to take the ties off until John had fully enjoyed the view.

Bane behaved.

 

Afterwards, John flopped down next to Bane and told him the gossip that Colin had shared with him earlier. “Apparently Helena had rumbled us for a while now. Ever since Colin broke the news at the gym, she’s been telling the kids we’re gonna get married and move into the suburbs and adopt Pomeranians.”

He rolled his eyes, while Bane thoughtfully rubbed at the lipstick marks on his chest. John had expected him to be scornful, but instead he said, “I do not want to leave the city.”

“Good, because I am at my best in familiar environments.”

“And I would rather a larger breed than a Pomeranian.”

John laughed. He could picture Bane with a pitbull, or a German shepherd, or maybe a pack of direwolves.

Bane continued. “But I have thought that cohabitation would be a more optimal arrangement for us.”

“Co - ?”

“Did you know that the penthouse apartment upstairs is going to be available from next month? Mrs. Chichikov told me. It has an extra 20 square feet of space.”

“Are you asking me to shack up with you?” John tried to picture it. Him and Bane, at home, with a different couch, and nowhere for John to run away to, but also somewhere to always go with someone who wanted him.

Running a hand over John’s thigh, he lowered his voice. “There’s a skylight.”

“Notorious burglary risks, skylights.”

“And an _en suite_ bathroom.”

“Already got one of those.”

Bane nudged him with his shoulder, getting John to turn to meet his eyes. “It has a newly-fitted filtered water system. And double-glazed windows. And, if I interpreted the blueprints correctly, an extra feature in the bedroom.”

John drew loops on Bane’s pecs with his finger tip. “Sex swing?”

“No. A walk-in wardrobe.”

“Shut up.”

“With extra shoe shelves.”

“ _Shut. Up._ ”

“Presumably,” Bane leaned his head back as if he was thinking about it for the first time, “there would be space for a full-length mirror. Though I could always convert it to fit a squat rack.”

John kissed Bane then, to distract him from that idea. “There will be no barbells in the bedroom. And no squat racks in my wardrobe. And I’m getting a chandelier. And maybe,” he kneaded Bane’s chest, “a stripper pole.”

Bane clasped his waist with his hands. “Is it legal to install a stripper pole in a rented residence without a permit?”

“Baby,” John kissed him again,“I am the law.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [ba_rabby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ba_rabby) for top-notch beta work - a thousand kisses! And a grateful shout-out to Min, the creator of the [Google Docs AO3 Posting Script](http://ao3org.tumblr.com/post/97558807623/cool-stuff-faq-archive-of-our-own), which is a dream to use. Any remaining mistakes are mine.


End file.
